


i'm slipping away to paradise

by allthempickles



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Breathplay, Choking, Drug Use, Drugs, Fantasizing, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Genderqueer Character, Hook-Up, Identity Issues, Masturbation, Name Changes, Names, Nonbinary Character, One Night Stands, Other, Pre-Canon, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 17:08:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18014930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthempickles/pseuds/allthempickles
Summary: They're bored and high. What else is there to do?AKA Klaus engages in some fantasizing and names themself.





	i'm slipping away to paradise

**Author's Note:**

> highkey inspired by Longview by Green Day because that song is such a mood
> 
> this didn't start out smutty but here we are

The air is smoky, the acrid scent of weed permeating the air. They have the window cracked slightly; enough to let in a bit of cool air, but not for the smell to dissipate. They’re laying on their bed with one hand hanging off the side, blunt held loosely in their fingers. They have their other arm thrown over their face. No, no, they swear they’re not sleeping. Just resting their eyes, fucker.

They lift their arm off their face to take another drag. They inspect their nails as they do it. Their nail polish is mostly chipped off now. They had bought two little bottles of polish from the drug store down the street. Pink and black. They couldn’t decide and had painted one hand pink and one hand black. Perfect.

It does stop them from chewing on their nails though. They take another drag and blow the smoke out slowly and feeling like a dragon. Heh.

Their old CD player skips, and they kick it gently with their foot. The Cure start playing again. The music is quiet and the air is cool against their skin. The sheets feel extra soft underneath them, rubbing against their arms and their torso where their tank is riding up. They should feel relaxed, but they just feel jumpy and irritated. It’s like their brain is buzzing, little details around the room standing out. Distracting.

Hmmm. They run their hand down their chest and stomach, stopping right above their waistband. Maybe this’ll help them relax. They ghost their fingertips along the inside of their thigh, shivering a little at the contact. Yes. They move their hand up again and stroke their dick gently through their briefs. Yes, definitely. They lift their hips up to shove their briefs down and off, settling back into the soft sheets with a sigh.

Everything is so slow, soft, quiet. They take another drag from the blunt, still holding it in their other hand. Then they begin to touch themselves, stroking themself slowly. They’re willing to take it slow for now.

They let their mind wander, trying to think of what they want to jerk off to. Getting on their knees for someone; that’s hot. Maybe in a club bathroom, kneeling on the dirty tile floor. Makes them feel filthy, desperate. Worshipping the cock of some stranger, knowing anyone could walk in. It’s hot.

Or maybe someone coming home with them, or taking them home. They can imagine themselves in someone else's bed, splayed out, willing and waiting. Dim lighting, the weight of someone above them. The other person preparing them, fingering them until they’re gagging for it. Riding them. Moaning and getting their hair pulled. 

Or maybe they would be on their back, legs open. Getting fucked good and hard. Maybe the other person would put their hand around their throat, press down. They can imagine the feeling of fingers tight around the base of their neck, constricting their airflow. God, that’s really hot too.

They reach up with their other hand, placing their hand against their throat in an imitation of their fantasy. They’re careful not to press the blunt to their skin; they don’t want to burn themself.

Just the feeling of their own hands against their throat gets to them. They know, if someone else was doing this, how powerless they would feel. Gasping for breath, unable to take in a full breath. They can imagine how their face would change color, how their eyelids would flutter, how their legs would spasm. Pleasure and pain in a feedback loop. 

They’re so close now. Their body is tensed, muscles tight in anticipation, toes curling. They imagine themselves falling apart under their imaginary partner, how it would feel to shake, shatter, go limp underneath them. With that thought, they’re coming. They buck into their hand, ride out their orgasm. It rushes through their body, their legs shaking with the intensity.

Afterwards they lie there for a moment, relishing the little shivers that still shake through their body. Aftershocks. The bed is still soft, and now the air feels even cooler, nicer, against their hot skin. But the CD must have ended.

They lie there splayed out for a little while longer and bask in the slow and sleepy mood they’re in. Then they sit up and put out the blunt. They’re probably done smoking for now. Then they grab a tissue and clean off their stomach and hand. 

They sit for a moment, contemplating their next move. Music. They push a button on the CD player, popping out the current CD. It takes them a moment to find the CD case. It’s not in the bed, they even sort of shake the sheets, but nothing comes tumbling out. Not with the rest of the CD cases; too easy. They’re about to give up and lay back down when they spot it. It’s on the floor.

They hang over the side of the bed and pick up the case, putting the CD away. Then they swing their arm lazily over to the pile of CDs on their dresser. Their arms and legs feel a little jelly-like. Kind of like when being on the line between tipsy and drunk. Just a little uncoordinated.They grab the one from the top. It’s a Dead Kennedys album. Shrugging, they slot the CD into the player and press the button to start it.

When they’re lying down on their bed again, they start to read the back of the CD. It isn’t for any real purpose, just subdued curiosity. Hm. “East Bay Ray” is the guitarist. The bass player’s name is “Klaus Fluoride”. Now that’s a cool name.

They don’t have a cool name. They’re just Number Four. The Seance. Maybe they should name themself. They glance down at the case again, eyes landing again on that name. 

“Klaus” 

Yeah. They like that.


End file.
